


i am not easy (i hate that)

by euphoricland



Category: ONEUS (Band), ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Feelings, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Office Worker Yonghoon, Porn with Feelings, Seoho is trying really hard to be serious, Teasing, University Student Seoho, Yonghoon is his normal happy giggly self, push and pull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphoricland/pseuds/euphoricland
Summary: “Is it not good?” he asks, chopsticks picking at the pork, “I can buy something else.”There’s some seaweed at the corner of Yonghoon’s mouth, a stray dried flake of it, from the top of the rice.“You’re messy,” Seoho says, scoops up rice of his own, “you’ll hurt your stomach if you keep eating this fast.”Yonghoon takes a bite of his pork cutlet, chews thoughtful before he laughs, amused, “you’ll take care of hyung, right?”
Relationships: Jin Yonghoon/Lee Seoho
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	i am not easy (i hate that)

Seoho pushes his glasses up his nose, sits quietly, legs drawn together, book bag on his lap as he watches people pass by, the tapping of dress shoes thudding over the tile floor, workers coming back from the break room with shiny wrapper snacks clutched in their hands.

The setting sun pours from outside the window, slanting between the blinds, casting glowing lines against the floor and walls.

His knee bounces as he sits, eyes unfocused, mind stuck on deadlines, lab hours.

“Ah, Seoho-ah?” someone calls for him softly and when he looks up he sees Yonghoon’s easy smile, gentle and wide, alluringly warm.

He feels his body go stiff, heat surging up his neck, staining his cheeks a light pink. He clutches his bag just a little tighter, tilting his head upward to look at the taller man.

The sunbeams hit softly across his body, melting into the golden hue of his skin, from where his button up shirt has a few buttons undone, clavicle barely peeking, a silver of skin, the smooth expanse of his arms where he’s rolled up his sleeves. The sunlight makes his eyes glimmer and Seoho’s mind has stopped all of the noise it has previously been drumming against his temples.

“Yonghoon,” a hiccup of silence, “ _hyung_ … I, class finished early, I thought we maybe, maybe could ah, could w-”

“Do you want to walk home together?” Yonghoon asks, and it’s just so _easy_.

Seoho hesitates, tilts his head, stands up, his heart skips a beat when Yonghoon’s hand cups the side of his neck gently, thumb pressing softly against his neck.

“I still have to clean up my office,” he says, grinning, “wait a little bit more, ok?”

His eyes curve with his smile and Seoho bristles a bit at how pleased he looks.

“Five minutes or I’m going home alone,” he grumbles, hating his heart for being stupid. 

He lets himself drop back to the bench, eyes decidedly on the floor, Yonghoon’s shiny dress shoes stay put, then turning to walk.

It’s not long before he hears steps again, and when he looks up from his phone, only three minutes later, he’s not expecting to see Yonghoon smiling at him, swinging his briefcase, suit coat dangling from his other hand.

“Hi,” he says once he’s in front of Seoho, waits patiently as Seoho gets up, he’s not that much shorter than the other, maybe an inch or two but with no distance between them he feels small, Yonghoon’s scent is faint, a mellow, cozy smell of tea.

“You ready to go home?” he asks, head tilting to the side. 

Seoho doesn’t answer, slips his book bag on.

When they take the elevator down they don’t talk and when they finally step in the still too hot fall evening, they don’t hold hands. But Yonghoon walks too close to him, arms bumping together as they make their way down the street, weaving out of people’s ways.

Seoho sighs quietly once they reach the underground of the train. The waiting platform is packed and it only gives Yonghoon more of a reason to keep close to him. The crowd doesn’t get any less by the time the next scheduled train pulls into the station. Seoho follows Yonghoon into one of the carts, Yonghoon too nice as they get shoved and pushed, until they’re stuck towards the end at the corner where a window meets the back of the cart. 

“Here,” Yonghoon says to him, voice low.

Seoho watches as Yonghoon curls a hand around the overhead railing, moving it until it bumps with Seoho’s own. 

He jumps when he feels a hand pressing to his lower back, sliding until they meet the line of his waist, holding on.

“Is this okay?” Yonghoon asks, adds on when Seoho doesn't answer right way, “so you don’t fall.” 

Yonghoon gives him a small smile, Seoho can see he’s looking at him from their reflection but he keeps his own eyes on the railing, where Yonghoon’s pinky has encroached on Seoho’s space, a soft touch against his knuckles before pulling away. The cart jostles once the doors close and the for a while all Seoho can hear is the muffled sounds of music through other people’s headphones, the rumbling of the train moving against the tracks, the sounds of hushed conversations, Yonghoon's breathing next to him.

Yonghoon’s hand on his waist holds him tighter as they get moved around, people stepping in and out for each stop. They aren’t talking, Yonghoon looking out the windows, watching as the lights on the tunnels form into blurry orange streaks. Seoho looks at the map over the door, their stop coming up.

The train keeps going, then bursts outside into their station, sitting alongside a park. There’s people waiting and the sun has turned into a glowing orange ring, bleeding into the sky, streaks of gold and reds, shadowed clouds casted into light purples.

_Tyndall effect_ , Seoho thinks, eyes hurting from trying to stare into the sun. Their cart comes to full stop and it’s Yonghoon’s hand that gets him moving, tapping at his hip before nudging him forward.

-

He slips off his shoes, Yonghoon next to him doing the same. They hang up their briefcase and bookbag in the small alcove where they have shoved their winter coats and other shoes.

The living room is full of books, thick textbooks, lab notebooks with curling pages. There’s papers on the floor, under the coffee table, marked up and scored, from when Seoho had wrestled them out of Yonghoon’s hand after he had insisted they put them up on the refrigerator. 

Seoho knows that if he keeps them there it’s only a matter of time before he gets home, Yonghoon smiling at him stupidly wide, graded tests on the door of the fridge from one of their many magnets.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Yonghoon says, phone in hand. 

When Seoho looks at him, his shirt is undone, buttons halfway down his shirt, skin once again presented to him.

“You said you wanted meat right?” Yonghoon asks, voice airy, “I’ll treat you for your good scores.”

He’s smiling at him again, leaning on the kitchen counter, where he’s dug up a take out menu, eyes sparkling.

Seoho, looks at him, at the way his hair is getting too long, covering his eyes just a bit, how it curls around the nape of his neck, how the corners of his mouth hitch up, crooked.

He smiles back at him, he knows it's teasing, the kind of smile that has Yonghoon asking just what he’s planning.

“Yonghoon,” he walks to their kitchen, his glasses go down the bridge of his nose when he leans forward, “if you want to eat meat just buy it, don’t use me as an excuse.”

Yonghoon stares at him for a second, then, without a word, reaches forward, long fingers pushing Seoho’s glasses back in place. His smile dips into something much more intimate, less brilliant but much more captivating, a sight only for him (he hopes).

“Let’s celebrate your good work this week,” he says, voice above a whisper, “it’s not an excuse if I just want to be nice to you.”

Seoho blinks at that pulls back, watches as Yonghoon’s hand falls away.

It’s silent, nothing but the low whirring of the lights, the indistinct sounds of traffic, white noise.

“Fine,” he huffs, crosses his arms, “I want pork cutlet.”

“Ok,” Yonghoon says, reaches for the menu, “I was looking at that anyway, I think I’ll have the same thing.”

By the time Seoho showers and changes Yonghoon is at the door, carefully bringing in their food.

He watches as he bows a couple of times, then turns around, smile never leaving his lips.

“Open the window,” he says, places the bags on the kitchen counter, “it’s getting too hot.”

Sounds rush into the apartment, pushed in with the gentle evening breeze. The sky is dark now, empty from clouds, not a star in sight.

“Here,” Yonghoon calls for him, now sitting in front of their television, where a drama is playing, “food is hot.”

Seoho watches as Yonghoon eats, clumps of white rice, still steaming, pressing against his lips, glistening from the oil of their breaded cutlet.

“Is it not good?” he asks, chopsticks picking at the pork, “I can buy something else.”

There’s some seaweed at the corner of Yonghoon’s mouth, a stray dried flake of it, from the top of the rice.

“You’re messy,” Seoho says, scoops up rice of his own, “you’ll hurt your stomach if you keep eating this fast.”

Yonghoon takes a bite of his pork cutlet, chews thoughtful before he laughs, amused, “you’ll take care of hyung, right?”

Seoho reaches for his drink, the bubbles from the soda hurt his mouth when he takes a drink, he frowns, “you are older, you’re supposed to take care of me.”

“Ok, Seoho-ah,” Yonghoon seems unfazed, if anything at ease, “I’ll keep buying you dinner, I’ll keep you upright on the train,” he leans forward, eyes dark, wide in their stare, “you’ll keep waiting for me at work.”

“I was done early,” Seoho stresses, talking around his chewing, “your workplace is on the way.”

“Ok, Seoho-ah,” Yonghoon repeats, gives him a knowing smile, shoves more food in his mouth.

They eat in silence, Yonghoon’s gaze on the television show. When he thinks no one is looking, Seoho can feel Yonghoon’s eyes on him, he presses his lips together, tries to keep his smile at bay.

Yonghoon pushes his hands away, gentle, as he gets up, picks up Seoho’s garbage once they are done. The television is on a commercial with some famous girl group member. Yonghoon clears the table, throws away empty containers, puts away the leftover cola in the fridge.

He drops next to Seoho once he’s done, shoulder bumping and Seoho, turns to look at him, leans forward.

It’s always a gamble with Yonghoon. Seoho never really knows what the response is when he silently asks for these types of kisses. Yonghoon tends to be surprised, eyes blinking, lips parting in shock, not embarrassed, just caught off guard before he smiles and lets himself kiss Seoho. 

This is not one of those times.

Seoho barely gets a chance to take a breath in before Yonghoon’s hand cradles his jaw, the smell of black tea and sweat pressing against him. Their mouths meet, it’s sweet, soft, warm, like everything Yonghoon always is with him. And then unapologetic, assertive, confident, hot, when Yonghoon’s tongue licks Seoho’s lips and he can’t do anything but part his lips.

The television has gone fuzzy, faraway sounding. 

They kiss or awhile, Seoho’s arms limp by his side, but head tilting, following Yonghoon’s mouth, tilting to the side to get more comfortable. His jaw aches and it’s getting messy, glasses askew, tongues touching, wet and overwhelming. 

Yonghoon pulls away, cheeks flushed, mouth now shiny with Seoho’s spit.

Yonghoon might be skinny, body long and narrow, spindly, unlike Seoho who between his classes and time at the lab, finds times to workout, leftover discipline from his days of tumbling. But is at times like these that Seoho feels small, weak to the oldest affections. He finds himself being scooped up, arms lifting him and then dropped again onto their couch.

The breeze from outside hits him, raises his skin into goosebumps before Yonghoon drops his body over Seoho. 

Their mouths touch again and Seoho sighs quietly, his shirt rucks up with Yonghoon moving on top of him and one of his knees bends upwards, almost as if trying to keep Yonghoon in place.

With Yonghoon’s narrow hips pressing down against him, it’s only fair that he starts to grow hard, face starting heat up, blush rising from his chest to the top of his ears when Yonghoon tries a tentative roll of his hips and all Seoho can do is raise his own to meet him halfway.

“You like me,” Yonghoon stops kissing me, looks at Seoho with a stupid grin on his face, one of his hands making its way up Seoho’s t-shirt.

Seoho shakes his head, purely out of spite. He reaches to fix his glasses. He really should take them off, if they're going to do this. But he wants to be able to see the other.

“You are my boyfriend,” Yonghoon speaks again, “we are boyfriends.”

“Says who?” Seoho asks, acutely aware of where he is. Under Yonghoon, with his hard cock pressing to the hard line of Yonghoon’s hip, his lips bruised and slicked from Yonghoon’s mouth.

Yonghoon giggles, it’s cute and endearing and Seoho wishes he wasn’t so _obvious_ , so easy.

Yonghoon is forgiving, when he pulls away further, sits on his haunches. His hands are pretty, Seoho thinks, when they reach to push Seoho’s t-shirt up, fingernails wasting no time in scratching against the ridges of Seoho’s abdomen, and then the flat of his palm presses warmly. 

Seoho hisses when Yonghoon’s fingers pull his shorts down, his underwear go with them and his cock sits between them, bare, hard, colored pink. 

Seoho rises a bit, cheeks now red. There’s precome beading at the head, just from having Yonghoon to press against. 

Yonghoon’s thumb swipes against the slit, Seoho watches in a stupor as his cock twitches at the contact, the way Yonghoon’s hand grips him properly, palm rubbing against the head and then pushing down the slick down his shaft.

_Yonghoon’s hands are pretty_ , Seoho thinks again, long elegant fingers, perfect for playing piano. 

Yonghoon sits properly on Seoho’s legs, hand slow in its drag back up, Yonghoon’s eyes stuck on the way Seoho’s thighs tense, cock leaking even more, making the slide of Yonghoon’s palm up the line of Seoho’s dick easier.

“Hyung is taking care of you,” Yonghoon says, voice airy, smile wide, hand glistening with precome, wet and slick, “I’ll treat you for such a good week today, Seoho-ah.”

Yonghoon pumps him slow, carefully, from the base of him, to the tip, the tight circle of his hand making Seoho’s hips jump, trying to chase for more. 

Yonghoon doesn’t give in that easily, hand sliding back down teasingly. He lets him go, thumb running a line against Seoho’s cock, following the long prominent vein of it. Seoho’s eyes snap back at Yonghoon, is met with a wicked grin, tongue poking out, hair falling over his eyes.

His cock twitches again at the small touches, the caressing, the teasing scrapping of Yonghoon’s thumbnail.

“Y-yonghoon, hyung,” Seoho stutters, eyes closing tight, stomach tense.

Yonghoon’s always too nice, fingers circle around Seoho again, tight, wrist twisting at the uptake and Seoho is so surprised, whine escaping his lips. Yonghoon keeps a steady pace, stroking Seoho in measured movements, gliding, making sure to spread Seoho’s precome down the rigid line of his dick. The noises are loud, Seoho feels the way his thighs feel cold, from his own wetness, messy from Yonghoon’s overeagerness to make it slick, the sounds of the television, of the early fall night outside the window.

The labored, heavy, strained, sound of Seoho’s breathing, his heaving chest, the way his skin feels too tight. Like Yonghoon is trying to break him apart, until it’s the most intimate thing Seoho can be.

“ _Yonghoon_ ,” Seoho whines, body starting to tense, from everything, from Yonghoon’s hand, from the sounds, from how wet he feels, cheeks tinting, down his chest.

Yonghoon takes it as a cue to pick up his speed, mean, rapid strokes that do nothing but milk more precome out of Seoho, makes his thighs quiver, his mouth drop open in quiet little pants. It’s hot, his hair sticks to his neck, and in his haze his brain manages to notice that Yonghoon is still wearing his work shirt, sleeve rolled up. He can see the muscles of his arm straining with their ministrations on Seoho’s cock. 

Seoho’s eyes travel back up, they land on Yonghoon’s mouth. Pretty, corners upturned, delicate shaped, he thinks about Yonghoon blowing him and he tenses, body going taut as Yonghoon keeps up his pace.

Seoho spills between them, forceful spurts of white that land on his own stomach, coat Yonghoon’s hand, splatter up his forearm, against his shirt. 

Seoho’s eyes flutter close, mouth open, breathing heavily as he keeps coming, Yonghoon’s hand working him through his orgasm, until his thighs start to go tight from Yonghoon insisting hands, pumping come out of him, thumb pressing into his slit one last time before Seoho starts to whimper.

Seoho feels like he’s melted into the couch, body heavy, stomach and thighs dirty, Yonghoon’s hand still stroking him.

“Stop,” he whines, “I can’t get hard again yet.”

Yonghoon lets him go after one last pump of Seoho’s cock, fingers instead spreading Seohos’ come where it has landed on his stomach.

“You’re dirty again,” Yonghoon whispers, in case Seoho’s gone to sleep, “you’ve shouldn’t have taken a bath earlier.

“Didn't know, hyung,” Seoho mumbles, then “sorry about your shirt.”

Yonghoon laughs, drapes his body over Seoho’s again. Seoho winces at the way his come presses between them, opens one eye.

“You’ll do the laundry, right?” Yonghoon asks.

“No, hyung, get off me.”

Yonghoon kisses him instead, it’s lazy, open mouthed, Yonghoon pulls away, presses his thumb to Seoho’s bottom lip and when his tongue touches the digit he tastes himself.

He wrinkles his nose and Yonghoon laughs again.

“At least let hyung clean you up,” Yonghoon says, easy, always easy.

“Ok,” Seoho agrees, finally.

Yonghoon gets off him, and then gives Seoho his hand, pulls him up. Seoho is bare from the bottom down, t-shirt falling to cover his stomach, down his thighs.

He’s a bit disoriented, sleepy.

Seoho lets himself be led to the bathroom and finally understands when Yonghoon turns on the shower, water lukewarm. Yonghoon finally takes off his shirt, then pants and Seoho lets himself raise his hands to help Yonghoon undress him.

“Shower with me?” Yonghoon asks, reaching to take Seoho's glasses off and Seoho feels funny.

Feels silly that Yonghoon still thinks Seoho means it when he tells him no, when he doesn’t follow his teasing banter.

_Do you want to walk home together?_

_You ready to go home?_

_Is this okay?_

_Is it not good?_

_You’ll take care of hyung, right?_

_You like me._

“Yes,” Seoho says, “ok, hyung.”

It’s easy.

**Author's Note:**

> new year new me
> 
> i wanted this to just be pwp but then i spent way too long describing things because i think seoho yonghoon are like an autumn day lol like just happening quietly but anyway i was rewatching some weus content and their interactions were like yonghoon trying to get seoho to do something or say something or play along and seoho was just like i dont think so


End file.
